


The Serpant and the Apple

by EsotericEden



Category: Harry Potter (film), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-07 02:00:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11613579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EsotericEden/pseuds/EsotericEden
Summary: Post War, Draco sets out to find himself. Could this trip into the wilderness lead to self discovery or destruction?





	The Serpant and the Apple

**Author's Note:**

> Draco wanders the frozen tundra in search for himself...

Snow. It was always such a beautiful thing, so pure in its fragility, so definite in the chill of it’s coming; yet - within every slumbering snowflake lay a hidden meaning. Death came with the winter, death with the prospect of renewal… and yet, the only way the new could come was if the old died in the cold and, then, the cold too would die. So beautiful, so sad. This was the winter, this was the snow.

It was in the stillness of the snow that Draco found himself, darkness looming overhead as the night sky clung to the stars in a desperate attempt to prolong the inevitable. It could not be done. Soon the sun peeked over the horizon as if awakening the beauty of the morning; yet, it was not as beautiful as one would first believe. It was cold, painful, and sad.

Draco lay in the frozen tundra of the upper mountains, snow swirling around him as the dawn peeked over the clouds, causing his face to scrunch uncomfortably in response to the blinding light. He had tossed and turned in his sleeping bag, kicking out of it eventually and letting the icy cool wind surround him; it seemed as if only then he was able to still himself from the heat of his nightmares and slip past his rocky state and into a deeper slumber, one that provided at least a little more rest than the last. It was almost as if the cold affected him, caused him to fall into an almost comatose state; his body still, the sweat beading on his face and nearly freezing before it fell to the snow below, lips tinged blue… Draco could have passed for the dead, had it not been for the light fog of labored breathing that erupted from his nose every other second.

Suddenly his bright blue eyes popped open, fierce and red with exhaustion. Groaning, he sat up and rubbed the rough scruff that speckled his pristine face, features contorting as he moved to get out of the sleeping bag completely and start packing up his things; his energy seemed drained, so much so, his body resorted to its baser instincts - his hands busying themselves with packing, his wand nowhere to be found. All he really wanted to do was actually get some rest but, it seemed as though he wasn’t going to be able to do that. Draco had spent most of his previous night tossing and turning, unable to actually get any real rest, his brain wanted to work ten million miles per hour and his heart wanted to pound out of his chest; his mind seemingly enjoying the walk down memory lane every moment he had his eyes closed. It was daunting, that’s for damn sure. Perhaps this was his penance? For all he had done, for all the things he didn’t do? For whom he had become in the midst of the war, not even the war that waged between those who supported the darkness and those who sought the light but, the war that seemed to wage within him… the beast within him that ran into the night and the beast that fought against the darkness. Which had he fed more? Which had truly won? Or had they both perished in the battle… leaving nothing but ashes of cowardice and venom? Poison in his veins?

Perhaps.

˟ ˟ ˟ ˟ ˟

A heavy sigh heaved as Draco came to his feet, lugging a large duffle over his shoulders with one hand; it was easy enough to lift, even with all the items in it. After all, he was a wizard… even if he didn’t feel as though he was worthy to be one any longer, Draco certainly was still the pureblood son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. Narcissa, his mother, the woman who had cared for him as if she were acting as both mother and father to the boy; in many ways, she was far more parent to him than his own father, even if most of Draco’s harsh personality came from the man he had once looked up to. How could he face him now? His father was a broken man, his mother too tired to mend and Draco? Draco was as distant as the very constellation he was named after, far off in the distance, seemingly beautiful and bright. How how he sparkled like a false stone. That was all he was, a farce. Draco was nothing anymore.

Moving forward from his camping grounds, Draco found himself lost in his thoughts once more, drifting in and out of the daze as he walked, his mind thinking about his decisions and who he had become. Even before the war he wasn’t a good person, could he be one now? Could he even try? After all, he had done nothing but, the same thing he had always done before, run away. Draco was as much a coward as a mouse, or rat even. He continued to run from everything, unable to face the truth about his life, or should he say, the lie about who he was. Draco didn’t know who he was and, honestly, he didn’t care to find out. If he could be a ghost, he would be, translucent and wistful, an air of nothingness, intangible and absolute. The end of it all, a memory and not even that… he wished to be nothing. He wished to be no one. Draco wished to fade away.

˟ ˟ ˟ ˟ ˟

Draco continued walking until the sun slipped beyond the mountains and the moon began to shine behind him, casting his languid shadow upon the un-tread snow before him. It was time to camp for the night and, Draco had to admit, he was even more exhausted now than he was when he’d woken this morning…. which was a feat. Though, he was always exhausted now. His body was nothing more than a shell, a beating heart, and numb limbs. 

Slowly, his almost android form moved to unpack everything. He didn't feel like eating, only sleeping, so, before even tending to the thought of a fire… he laid down, his body brittle in the cold snow as he huddled in his sleeping bag to fight off the frigid cold that surrounded him. Soon, he would be ablaze with the heat of night sweats and need this cold… so, at least for now, he would suffer the chill so that rest may come eventually...


End file.
